


Perfect Day (I'm Glad I Spent It With You)

by anniespinkhouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Wincest - Freeform, burning sunshine, cavity inducing schmoop, profanities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Red Sky at Dawn (3.05). Sam and Dean go to Atlantic City with the 10K that Bela gave them. As usual, nothing goes to plan for the Winchesters, but perhaps, just this once, it works out better. Written for the spn_bigpretzel (The Sunnier Side of Supernatural), Summer Lovin’ Reverse Mini Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Day (I'm Glad I Spent It With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Artist: jenilees I saw this bright happy picture of Sam at the beach and I couldn’t not write a fic for it. She's been great fun to work with and made this challenge a bit special, so give her some love for a gorgeous prompt here.  
> Beta's: Much love and thanks to the marvellous vennstiel and sylsdarkplace for making this better. All mistakes remain my own.  
> Disclaimer: Sam and Dean don’t exist and even if they did they wouldn’t belong to me. Also, none of this happened. This makes me very sad. In the real world Jensen Ackles is most certainly not a porn star and to my knowledge he never appeared in a little flick called Dawson’s Crack.  
> Lou Reed's Perfect Day was pretty much the soundtrack for this fic while I was writing and it kept me on track, hence the title.

Oh, it's such a perfect day  
I'm glad I spent it with you  
Oh, such a perfect day  
You just keep me hanging on  
You just keep me hanging on  
  
Just a perfect day  
problems all left alone  
Weekenders on our own  
it's such fun  
  
Just a perfect day  
you made me forget myself  
I thought I was  
someone else, someone good  
  
Oh, it's such a perfect day  
I'm glad I spent it with you  
Oh, such a perfect day

~excerpt from **_Lou Reed’s ‘Perfect Day’~_**

****

The bellhop leaves the suite with an empty hand and points a deathly glare at the Winchesters. They both raise their eyebrows at the unfortunate man at same time and in the same way. Neither of the brothers is intimidated, and the young man slams the door on his way out. Dean leans happily into _his_ Sammy’s side. Their heads tip in tandem and their bags hit the floor with a heavy thud at exactly the same time.

 

“Duuude!” slurs Dean, his green eyes wide and drink-glazed.

 

“ ** _Diva Suite_?** What the hell, Dean?” Sam turns the key card in his hand and hazel eyes glitter dangerously. There’s a full-on Sammy bitchface that Dean can clearly discern through his alcohol haze.

 

Dean takes an exaggerated look around their room and Sam knows he can’t see the problem. Through his big brother’s happy-haze the room will seem **_awesome_**. The beds are huge, with thick mattresses and laundry fresh linen. There is a mini-bar and a coffee maker, and double doors where a salty breeze from a fourth floor balcony billows in wispy curtains. According to Dean, the blonde girl on reception said the door to the bathroom will open to reveal a _spa_ shower and a mood-lit, double-size Jacuzzi. If there’s an excess of mirrored glass, glitter and _pink_ , Dean will cope.

 

Dean gives his brother a lopsided grin, full of drunken cheek, “Atlantic City Baby! Ten grand, Sammy!”

 

“ _Six_ grand, and five hundred of that is in stupid casino tokens,” corrects Sam, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, “Because you just had to hustle a hustler.”

 

“Did you get a load of the rack on her though, Sammy?”

 

Sam removes his arm with a growl, and Dean crumples to the floor. “Hey! Wassat for?”

 

Sam’s glare is painfully intense. Dean recovers and gets to his feet with a sway. He takes a running leap at one of the enormous beds and lands with a “whumpf” in the centre of it. Sam rolls his eyes as his brother bounces enthusiastically, but it doesn’t take long for Dean’s expression to change to a pout as he scans the nightstand, “Hey! No magic fingers,” he informs Sam dolefully.

 

“Huh,” Sam snorts as he closes and locks the balcony doors and salts a line around the room. It pains him to do it. He’s shutting them off from balmy evening air freshened with a sea breeze, the sound of gulls, tidal water, tooting car horns and holiday bustle.

 

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean whines.

 

Sam has settled on the edge of the other bed where he’s rubbing his hand over his head. He’s tired, he’s frustrated with his brother, and the sea air is playing hell with his hair. There’s a discreet pamphlet tucked on the shelf of his nightstand and he squints a little trying to read the text without Dean noticing.

 

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean whines again.

 

Sam huffs and ignores him.

 

“Whatya lookin’at, Sammy?”

 

“It’s nothin’.”

 

“Is too. You’re still pissed about Bela aren’t you?”

 

“She had her hands all over you.”

 

“Like you can talk, _boytoy_.”

 

Sam shudders, “I still feel dirty y’know, and maybe if you’d spent less time looking at Bela’s cleavage and more time watching what she was doing, she wouldn’t have got one over on you with the hand job.”

 

Dean’s lips curl into a smirk, “Mmm, maybe you should demonstrate how a hand job is done. I need your magic fingers. Work to do Sammy.” Dean wiggles his fingers in time with his eyebrows. “I’ll let you watch your dirty porno movie,” he wheedles.

 

 Sam knows Dean loves when he blushes, but he can’t help this pink flush, right now.

 

 “Aw, you’re adorable. Don’t think I can’t see you looking at the _special_ movie menu,” Dean teases. He turns to squint at the card placed by the side of his bed. “Lemme guess, Casa Erotica, 9, Beach Boys in the Bahamas?”

 

“No!” Sam is quick to deny it, unconsciously looking back to the card displaying the evening’s movie specials. His tongue swipes out and wets his lips to a shine and Dean groans.

 

“Burning Britches?”

 

“No! Dean!” Sam gets up and heads toward the bathroom, brows knitted and shaking his head slightly. “I gotta take a leak, get a shower.”

 

“Aw, l’il brother’s gone all shy.” Dean grins and tries one more, “Dawson’s Crack?” he yells after him.

 

Sam knows Dean can see him turning an interesting shade of crimson and he rubs at his neck uncomfortably, “Fuck you,” Sam says as he slams the door after him.

 

He calms a little as he showers. He has to admit their hotel room _is_ just a little awesome. The bathroom is fresh scented and the water spray that washes over him is, deliciously hot and powerful. The bathroom lighting changes mood subtly, to bathe him in relaxing light.

 

He doesn’t want to be angry with Dean. Who knows? It _may_ be the last opportunity they have to do this, flash a little cash in a hotel that isn’t thick with grime and take the time to do some of the little things they enjoy. It’s nice to kick back for a few hours without a hunt in a city that doesn’t know they’re brothers and doesn’t care which way they swing.

 

Sam doesn’t want to lose his brother -- can’t contemplate it -- and finding ways to shake a demon’s deal loose isn’t going to be cheap, so yeah, he’s pissed about the money, but he wouldn’t have changed their evening. Dean had allowed himself to forget for a few hours. There had been shiny plastic stools and sparkling lights in bars full of ordinary folks high on alcohol, gambling, and life. There had been the noise of cash and one-arm bandits, drink and laughter. Dean had indulged in meaningless flirting with a red-lipped and big-busted hustler, but that didn’t matter to Sam. In the end nobody can mistake the way that Dean’s eyes and snarky comments always return to _his Sammy_. Anything else is just a front and a tease to make his brother jealous.

 

Sam turns the water off and steps into a warm, mirrored space to wrap into a fluffy towel that is almost made for his size. He shaves and makes use of all the complimentary toiletries, knowing that it will make Dean smile to rib him for it. When he’s done he’s smirks and rips off his towel to make a grand, naked entrance for Dean. He steps through the door with a flourish to the high definition sight and sound of pornography on a screen and a softly snoring Dean, still wearing his boots and grasping the TV remote.

 

Sam’s whole body sags with disappointment but he has a fond smile for the scene. He pads over to Dean’s bed and carefully unlaces and removes his brother’s boots. Dean fidgets and opens his eyes.

 

“Hey, jus’ me, jus’ Sam.”

 

“Hmm,” sighs Dean contentedly, “Your movie sucks and not in a good way,” he murmurs into the pillow, where Sam knows his fingers touch lightly on a silver knife and gleaming gun.

 

Sam laughs good naturedly, as he continues to undress his virtually comatose big brother. “I didn’t ask for it, you perv.”

 

“Can’t lie to me Sammy, s’one of your favorite things to fap off to.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, so you say, but why would I need that when I have you.” Sam shakes his head with a slightly embarrassed grin. It’s not far from the truth. Dean has an uncanny ability to read his mind. Sam once owned the movie back at Stanford. The main stars did nothing for his libido, but there was one player who caught his eye. Jensen Ackles is a big time porn star these days but back then it was the short scene he had in this cheesy flick that Sam replayed incessantly, and his hand cramps with the memory. He reaches for the controller in Dean’s hand and switches off the television to faint mumbled protestations. He’s not sure if his brother would recognize how similar Jensen Ackles was to Dean when they were younger, but he knows he’ll never live it down if he does.

 

Dean is in a deep alcohol-induced sleep by the time that Sam has tucked him under the sheets and slid in beside him, spooning him close, burying his nose into the back of his neck and inhaling his brother’s scent.

 

***

 

“Up and at ‘em Sammy boy.” Sam forces his eyes open to the vision of sparkling green eyes and freckles, and the smell of coffee. He groans and falls back into the pillow as Dean wafts a greasy diner package at him. “Double bacon cheeseburger,” he announces with glee and chomps enthusiastically into the squashed bun.

 

“Ugh. How can you even eat that crap with a hangover.”

 

“What? I feel great.”

 

Sam thinks Dean looks annoyingly well for a man who cock-blocked him with his drunken stupor the night before. “Well you sure weren’t great last night.”

 

“Ah.” Dean looks at his feet and shrugs, “Sorry, you didn’t want to … did you? I mean we were both pretty exhausted.” He brightens to smirk at his brother, “We’ve got the key until midday, lots of time to use that Jacuzzi after I’ve been to see a man about silver bullets.”

 

“We should check out the little hoodoo place while we’re here.”

 

“Yeah, I get that. Tell you what, you get dressed and we can have breakfast on the _balcony_ , Juliet.” He wafts another package under Sam’s nose, “Blueberry pancakes,” he coaxes smugly.

 

“You’re Juliet,” snarks Sam, then stops to consider it, “Hey, Dean, _Shakespeare_?”

 

“I read,” his brother smiles enigmatically and sashays through the wide glass doors where warm air full of ozone wafts delicate curtains into the air and sunshine pools in welcoming patches on the floor. Dean peers in from the balcony, framed by blue sky, “Oh, and _Juliet_ , I bought you some new clothes. When in Rome …”

 

“Dean, Romeo and Juliet wasn’t set in … oh, never mind.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen as he pulls the softest sky-blue polo shirt from a swanky casino bag. He can’t resist smoothing it with his long fingers, it is a rarity to have anything new and the quality is evident. “Wow, we can’t …” the tag turns in his hand and Sam gasps, “De, I can’t have this, how did you even?”

 

“Crap shop-tokens, no good for anything. I can’t believe you let me take that bet from Miss Big-Tits. Their shop is full of plastic buckets, golf clubs and frickin’ leather wallets. Not a useful item in there. Hell, you always need clothes, and I’m fed up of trawling through hangers for stuff your size.”

 

Sam sits up straight and delves into the second bag. He can sense Dean’s green eyes and excitement on him. It seems like it should be Christmas or his birthday but those have never felt this good. His fingers clasp soft, silky material, about as far from practical as he can imagine, and he pulls out a pair of shorts in the brightest royal purple. He avoids looking at the tag, mainly because he’s so shocked by the color.  “Really? Dean?”

 

Dean is sipping coffee from the hotel’s mug and stifling a laugh, “It’s all about fitting in Sammy. Gotta investigate that hoodoo shop on the boardwalk, so we have to look like the rest of the tourists, ‘sides,” Dean pauses and his face darkens with unconcealed lust, he licks and bites his lip, “Purple totally suits you.”

 

“Right! So what did you get, Luis?” Sam says sarcastically.

 

“Eh?” Dean scratches his head at the reference.

 

“Let’s see yours,” Sam says, and there’s the suggestion of a bitchface.

 

“Me? Oh no. I’m the macho, over-compensating type.”

 

Sam tips his head to the side and glares at his brother briefly, but he can’t stay angry with him.

 

“The shoes go with it. You gotta put it all on.” Dean flutters long lashes over wide pleading eyes, and Sam’s resistance melts. The light, impractical canvas shoes match the blue of the shirt and he secretly loves them for their sheer extravagance. Sam rolls his eyes but he’s quick to pull the shirt on and tug the shorts over his knees. The shop-fresh fabric is strange against his skin and he can’t help feeling guilty that this was money which could be helping them to find a way out of Dean’s deal.

 

“Stop it, Sam! Couldn’t do a thing else with them vouchers, so enjoy it. We’re at the seaside, Sammy.” There’s a note of desperation in Dean’s voice, a plea for his brother to leave it alone and let Dean share his enjoyment. There are the unspoken words, “ _Because I may never get the chance to do this again_.”

 

Sam runs a comb through his hair and joins Dean on the balcony. He places huge hands on his big brother’s waist and pulls him close. Dean’s used the shower and he smells of fresh citrus, sea, spearmint and stale beer. Sam breathes him in and nuzzles close. “They’re great, thanks De.”

 

Wind ruffles their hair and sun illuminates them as they kiss, slow, deep and thorough, with the bustle of the boardwalk, the crash of the sea and cries of gulls accompanying their throaty whimpers.

 

“Pancakes, Sam,” reminds Dean as they pull apart, and they scrape chairs to sit by a plastic table in the sunlight, “Y’know I can feel Baby rusting in the salt air every moment we spend here.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, right.”

 

They sit, knees touching under the dainty table and Sam eats politely, scanning the view and raising his eyes to the blue sky.

 

“You, okay?” Dean asks.

 

“I guess,” Sam frowns and continues, “Kinda weird. When we were little, riding in the Impala, I used to imagine _maybe this time_ Dad was gonna surprise us and instead of a hunt, he’d pull up by the beach and we’d be at the seaside, maybe we’d have a vacation, y’know, dig holes in the sand and paddle in the sea, even for a day.”

 

“We went to the beach,” protests Dean with his mouth full of double bacon cheeseburger.

 

Sam glares at him, hazel eyes glinting in the light, “We rolled into town, took a five mile hike to reach a stony cove and then we poked sticks at the stinking, rancid corpse of a merman, before hiking five miles back to our motel where we had to make a run for it without my schoolbooks, and blow out of town because our credit card was hinkey. Yes, we went to the beach, Dean.”

 

Dean shrugs, “The merman was cool. Can’t have it all.”

 

Sam exhales slow and lets it go.

 

***

 

The sun is hot on their backs as they join the throng on the boardwalk. Kids on scooters chew gum, laugh. and skid past them. Moms push buggies and gossip. There are brash vacationers of every race and type, weighed down with cameras and fanny packs, ice-creams and sunglasses. It feels like they’ve been dropped into another world. There are other subtle differences from their everyday reality and somewhere between Trump Taj Mahal and the hoodoo shop, Dean reaches for Sam’s hand and winds his fingers around it, like all the other couples are doing around them.

 

Sam looks shocked and hisses, “Dean!” at him, but Dean holds tighter and walks close enough that their arms are touching.

 

“Relax,” he says, “Everyone’s doing it.”

 

Sam takes furtive glances around him and the tension leaves him as he confirms his brother’s assessment. Nobody seems surprised or angry to see their public display of affection.

 

“See,” reassures Dean, and they continue that way, skin to skin, no personal space, with a hazy, happy calm.

 

The hoodoo shop turns out to be a fraud, with fake trinkets and dramatic words for gullible tourists. The vendor is unapologetic about the ineffectiveness of her charms, _surely nobody really believes in any of it_? Sam doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. They make their way to the door, and Dean stops to pick up a wax effigy of Sarah Palin on a shelf near to the exit. “Oh, they’re very popular,” the lady says with a wide smile and the Winchesters grimace at each other before Dean places it back on the shelf. They stride out of the door in perfect step, through the frozen swath air conditioning and back into warm sunlight.

 

The sun is high in the sky when they reach the rendezvous with their contact. Sam wonders if it’s a coincidence that the agreed meeting place happens to be near the entrance of ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not’ as Dean bounces on his heels with excitement and then drops back to his feet and scowls when he sees the length of the entrance line.

 

Sam squeezes his hand, “Do you want to go in, Dean?”

 

“What! No!” Dean gives a nervous laugh and shrugs.

 

“Dean …”

 

“No! Leave it, Sammy.” Dean scratches his nose and gives his brother a warning glance.

 

“You so do!”

 

“Don’t!”

 

“Do, do, do.”

 

“You said do-do,” points out Dean with a smirk.

 

“Dean Winchester, I presume.” They jump apart and rush to untangle their hands. In an instant Dean’s fingers touch metal, poised for trouble. “Leroy Rose,” the man introduces himself, extending a hand to Dean. “Bobby said you’d like to see some of my wares.” He shows them a card with a code word, a prearranged signal.

 

“Yeah, er, yeah,” Dean relaxes and clears his throat, “Bobby says you’ve got some cool stuff.”

 

Leroy gives Sam an appraising look, “Don’t look like no hunters I’ve seen afore.”

 

Sam wants a hole to open up and swallow him and Dean shoots the man an icy glare, “We’re in disguise,” he says, every fiber of him tensing, daring this _Leroy Rose_ to say another word about _his Sammy_. 

 

They get directions to a warehouse and it’s just off the boardwalk so Leroy suggests that they visit to view the gear and they reserve anything they want, to pick up and pay for on their way out of town.

 

***

 

Dean is in some form of ecstasy, his eyes are glazed and his smile dreamy and Sam is trying not to laugh. He nudges his brother in the ribs, “You’re drooling,” Sam says and takes a glance downwards to check if his brother has a tell-tale bulge. He is relieved that there isn’t one.

 

“Look at these babies, Sam.” Dean runs a reverent hand over the crossbows, lifts a selection of silver-tipped arrows to weigh them in his fingers and then feathers fingertips over the assortment of plastic wrapped herbs, bones, and dried skins.

 

“We can buy a bow. We’ll buy one. Which one do you want?” The words tumble from Sam’s mouth before he stops them. He wants to see Dean happy and this is the most cheerful he’s seen him since the crossroads deal was made.

 

“Sammy, we’ve got crossbows.” Dean sounds horrified by Sam’s impulsive suggestion, but he picks one of them up longingly and tests it in his arms.

 

“How much?” Sam asks the supplier.

 

Leroy names his price and Dean hurriedly puts the bow back down again. The disappointment is etched into his face.

 

Sam is determined, “Will you take a part exchange?”

 

The seller thinks about it for a moment and then nods, “I’d have to see your weapon, but you have a reputation, I’d expect it to be well kept.”

 

“It is,” Sam confirms, and Dean’s mood visibly lightens. Sam continues, “You live here, right? Do you play golf?”

 

Leroy nods and frowns, obviously wondering where this is going.

 

“So you can use casino vouchers?  How about you take a hundred off for …. “

 

Dean gets with the program with enthusiasm and counts out the remaining tokens in his wallet, “….two hundred and ten in-shop dollars,” he announces.

 

“Let me see,” the man says, and Dean shows him the stack of printed Casino bills.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Leroy Rose looks satisfied with the deal.

 

***

 

The boardwalk is getting busy as they make their way back to their hotel room and to the Impala parked near to it with all their possessions already neatly stashed away, ready for the next town and the next hunt. The crowd is thick and there seems to be an air of anticipation in the mostly one-way flow of bright, sweaty tourists. Parents pull at their children impatiently and tell them to _‘stay with me.’_ Plastic buckets and spades clatter in eager toddlers’ hands, and they scrape Sam’s exposed shins as they are dragged on past. There’s sand in his canvas shoes, rubbing uncomfortably at his ankles, and it makes no sense to him. “Hold up,” Sam says and stops.

 

“Man! _Jacuzzi_! Room until noon!” moans Dean taking a look at his watch.

 

“Just …” Sam leans into his brother as he takes first one shoe off and then the other and tips sand from them, before slipping them back over his feet.

 

“Dude, how even?”

 

Sam gives the tiniest shake of his head, and his hair reflects sunlight as it moves in the breeze, “No idea,” he says.

 

A gull swoops low over their heads and squawks next to Dean’s ear and they both startle, Dean’s hand touches metal and then they relax and give a short chuckle, in perfect time with each other, as they watch the bird soar on air currents, past gaily colored kites over the beach and out to sea.

 

Dean grips Sam’s hand as they make to move off, “Don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” he babies him, with a twinkle in his eyes. In the end they don’t take a step though,

 

“Hey, Mister.” There’s a little girl tugging on Dean’s pants and they both look down at her and then scan the mass of humanity around them for signs of a family, but there’s no-one stopping or looking over at their little group. They switch attention back to the little girl. She’s _small_ with shiny red cheeks, dark brown eyes and long dark hair tied in bunches and curling in the sea air. She’s wearing a ‘Barbie’ bikini top and a bright pink frilly skirt, with shiny plastic sandals. “I lost my momma,” she says solemnly, and takes a loud suck of the bright sticky-red lollipop in one hand, which is leaving a thick crimson trail around her mouth. Her other hand clasps a spade in a bucket full of sand. Sam suddenly understands how his shoes got full of the stuff.

 

The Winchesters turn in tandem to scan the crowd with greater purpose, and she tugs on Dean’s leg again, “Mom said if m’lost I sh’d find a cop but I can’t see none.” She takes another slurp of her hard-candy lollipop, “Mom says issafe to find gay men t’elp.” She takes a large shuddering breath, her eyes fill with tears and she looks beseechingly at them.

 

“There’s a lifeguard station, over there, they’ll find your mommy,” Dean gives a hopeful smile and points to the far distance of the beach, and Sam just knows that inside Dean’s thinking, _aw hell,_ _Jacuzzi._

“Dean!” Sam scolds, and bends down to the girl, who clutches tightly to Dean’s leg, peeping out at Sam from behind the firm thigh, “What’s your name?” he asks gently, with his hazel eyes in puppy-dog mode.

 

“M’Emily.‘mily Pederson and m’from New Jersey,” she says and it’s obvious her momma has had her practice this, for just such an occasion.

 

“How old are you Emily?”

 

“M’six,” she says wriggling slightly and licking a pink tongue to her sweetie.

 

“Well, I’m Sam and this is my, er, partner Dean, and don’t you worry, we’re gonna find your momma, Emily.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows at his brother.

 

“and m’baby sister,” adds Emily with a nod.

 

“Yeah, and your baby sister,” says Dean with a resigned sigh and roll of his eyes.

 

“Where did you see you momma last?” Sam and Dean speak the words together.

 

She looks between them, “By the ‘tition.”

 

The brothers look confused and she huffs, “The sandcastle ‘tition. M’gonna win a car.”

 

Dean splays his hands and grimaces, “Where’s that?”

 

Emily looks at him as if he’s stupid, “On the beach, silly,”

 

Sam sniggers and Dean looks daggers at him.

 

“Well then, I think we should get down there, ‘cos that’s where your momma will be looking for you,” Sam explains.

 

They make their way to the beach, jostled along by the throng with Emily between them, a little hand clasped in one each of the Winchester’s huge calloused hands. Sam carries her bucket and Dean regards the sticky candy he’s got in his other hand, with disgust.

 

***

Sam and Dean have extracted the best description they can of Emily’s momma and of her sister and the stroller she’s in, including the little ‘Blues Clues’ puppy that hangs from the stroller’s visor, but the thick mass of people makes it virtually impossible to find the missing mother. Emily is starting to look frightened and upset, and Dean soothes her but soon enough there’s an outburst, “I wan’ my momma, I wanna do the ‘tition,” she wails.

 

She’s starting to draw attention and it’s uncomfortable. “Do something,” hisses Sam at Dean, “We look like pedophiles,”

 

“Dean rubs his hands together, a sure sign that he’s making things up as he goes along, “Tell you what, l’il Emily, how ’bout I get you and our Sammy here all paid up for the competition, and we find you the best spot to build a castle. Sam’s an expert so you’re sure to get a prize, and while you’re doing that, I can go to the lifeguard station and ask about your momma. How’s that sound?”

 

If looks could kill, Dean would be early for his deal. Sam is wearing his most frustrated little brother look and shaking his head, but Emily is placated. Her tears dry and she claps her hands together, “A Barbie princess castle,” she proclaims, excitedly, gazing up at Sam with something like adoration.

 

“Yeah, ‘cos Sam here just loves Barbie, don’t’ya, Sammy?”

 

“Barbie Princess Castle,” Sam repeats flatly, still glaring at Dean, who just grins cheekily back at him.

 

They pay for entry to the sand sculptures, and pass into a cordoned area of the beach. Sam’s breath catches. All around them children and adults kneel, moulding sand and water into an abundance of fantastic shapes. In the center of all the activity are several huge pieces of sand art. There are a pair of giant snails, a cat, a sand family with their picnic, and a life size mermaid which makes Sam shudder. He’s never seen or imagined anything like it before and his eyes shine with child-like enthusiasm, “Wow, De, look!” he exclaims.

 

“That’s dope,” says Emily.

 

“Yeah, pretty dope, kid,” Dean confirms, in his best ‘James Dean-cool’ voice. 

 

Dean takes off on his parent-hunt while Sam and Emily take their time wandering between the sculptures. Sam reaches fingers to delicately touch the models and they’re solid and smooth but gritty. They both look from all angles at the detail and embellishments, and Sam is every bit as impressed by them as Emily.

 

Emily’s excitement peaks when they reach a huge and beautifully embellished sand castle the size of a play-house, with towers and turrets and a long flapping flag at the top. There’s a child-size doorway which Emily steps in and out of, squealing in delight and she convinces Sam to crouch down and poke his head into the interior too. He can’t stop smiling and wishes Dean was there to share the fun.

 

They finally settle on a smooth patch of sand next to the huge sandcastle, to build their own. The beach is full of bright color. There’s the blue of the sky and the shining yellow of the sun and the sand. The sea shines blue with reflected sky, and is topped with crashing white foam. All around them people wear pastels and primary colors, and there are plastic-bright buckets and beach chairs dotting the scene. Then there’s the purple of his shorts, and Sam smiles at the ridiculousness of them, but he loves them anyway. They’re just perfect for the beach. The sun bakes hot on Sam’s skin, and the breeze blows cool and salt-fresh from the tumbling ocean which scrapes across the shore. There’s the low murmur of chatter around them and the drone of jets passing overhead. It makes him hazy and mellow and calm. He scrapes his hand into the sand and digs with his fingers. The sand fills his fingernails, it trickles over his skin, soft and dry at first, and then, as his fingers deepen, it’s cool and damp and perfect for moulding.

 

It takes a few attempts to get the sand and water mix just right and Emily crosses her arms and declares Sam to be ‘ _not very ‘spert at all’_ . He agrees and they run across the beach together to collect buckets of water, paddling in the tickling cold water with their toes sinking in the shifting sand.

 

Sam loses himself in carrying out Emily’s instructions, and in no time they have multiple towers, a courtyard, and an enormous, ever-deepening moat which Emily is intent on making the safest of them all. Looking at the other kid’s castles, she has a point, theirs has a veritable ravine. There’s a piece of driftwood which is ideal for a drawbridge and they place it across the moat after serious _r k tecshual_ discussion about its placement, because Emily’s daddy is apparently a builder.

 

It feels timeless, but soon enough there’s an ear splitting screech from Emily. The kid drops her bucket and is on her feet, running and stumbling over the sand “Momma!” She’s crying, and tears are spilling over her plump, rosy cheeks as she’s scooped up in the arms of a dishevelled and emotional lady.

 

Dean follows behind _momma,_ pushing a stroller, which he discreetly places by their side as he backs away to allow the reunion. Sam looks up from his place, kneeling in sand, as his brother’s hair shines gold in the sun and his eyes sparkle. Dean seems to glow with the satisfaction of helping this family find each other, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world for Sam. “Hey,” he says and smiles up at the man who means everything to him, “You found momma, well done.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean replies. He wipes his sleeve over his eyes and sniffs. Sam stands up next to him, his hand reaching to Dean’s arm and doesn’t mention it.

 

Momma finally manages to separate herself from her daughter, and she hugs Dean to within an inch of suffocation before shaking Sam’s hand and thanking him sweetly with tears in her eyes, “You’re such a wonderful, perfect couple,” she tells them, and adds, “You look so happy together.”

 

“Yeah, we are, _happy together_ , I mean,” Dean looks into Sam’s face as he says it and there’s no suggestion that he’s lying.

 

Emily has her thumb in her mouth, and her eyelids are drooping. She snuggles in close to her momma, “Wanna go home,” she whispers. “Can I play with Sam n’ Dean next week?”

 

“Well…” starts Dean. “Actually…” says Sam, but momma cuts them off, “I’m not sure if Sam and Dean live here, honey.” She looks at them for an answer.

 

Sam replies first, “I enjoyed playing with you Emily. You are the best castle-maker ever but …”

 

“We’re just visiting,” finishes Dean.

 

“I thought so, you seemed the type,” nodded momma, “Well Emily, say bye-bye to the nice gentlemen and give them a hug and we’ll go home for dinner and ice-cream.”

 

Momma thanks them again before the young family leave. Sam and Dean watch them trundle over the beach and away onto the boardwalk. “That was nice,” says Sam.

 

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?” agrees Dean who stands by Sam and Emily’s castle, toeing at the sand.

 

“Sorry ‘bout the Jacuzzi,” Sam apologizes.

 

“Nah, it’s what we do, isn’t it? Help people? We’re good, aren’t we?” Dean looks to Sam for confirmation.

 

Sam’s brows meet, “Of course, Dean.” Dean is still rubbing his booted foot in the sand and Sam grins wide and dimpled, “Race you to the shore to jump waves.”

 

“Why would I do that?” Dean asks but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

 

“Dare you. No, double dare you!” adds Sam.

 

“There might be merfolk,” scowls Dean.

 

“’Fraidy-cat. Even Emily went in the water.”

 

“I am not afraid!” Dean’s kicking off his boots and pulling off his socks and then they’re racing into the shallow water, shocked by the cold rush over their feet and laughing freely. When they run back Dean has seaweed and shells and he’s bitching Sam out for the lack of supernatural safety in his castle. The rest of the world melts away as they revisit a childhood they never had to add charms to the corner of the sandcastle walls and make a channel for salt water to fill the ravine. They finish with sigils over the drawbridge entry. They lay back, side by side, arms slick against each other with brine and sweat. The sun is starting to sink in the sky, and they’re breathless and heady with the unfamiliar effects of laughter.

 

They’re disturbed by someone clearing their throat and look up to see an elderly lady with a clipboard. “Well, let me see, this must be Emily Pederson and Sam Winchester’s sand sculpture.” She’s looking at the little numbered flag in the sand that they were given to mark their work. “Oh, where are the children?” she asks, peering down at them, but she doesn’t let Sam or Dean answer her, “Never mind, you’ll be able to give them their prizes later. I have to say it’s lovely to see dads giving moms a break by bringing the kids to the beach. Here …,”  she slips her hand into a deep bag and brings it back out to drop a toy Batman car into Dean’s palm and a Barbie jeep into Sam’s, “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” she says as she totters off to the next castle.

 

“Told you I was Romeo and you were Juliet,” says Dean smugly as he joyfully considers the tiny Batmobile in his hand.

 

“Hmph,” is Sam’s only reply.

 

***

They don’t get a motel room that night. Dean has one hand on the steering wheel and another caresses Sam’s leg worrying at the soft shorts fabric, made gritty with sand. He pulls his Baby into a quiet spot, overlooking the deep expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and turns off the engine. He faces his brother, his lover, and his _reason for being._ “I’m glad we never went on vacation to the beach with dad,” he says, soft and low.

 

In the sky the sun dips low, sketching bright pastel patterns onto the clouds, and it reflects upon the choppy water in ripples. In the Impala, Sam scrunches his face in confusion at Dean’s words.

 

Dean reaches gentle hands to pull Sam toward him and tangle his fingers into mussed and salt-stiff hair. He kisses Sam’s lips, dips in with his tongue as his brother moans and opens up for him. The kiss is lingering, deep and needy. Dean tastes perfect and everything is just right and _home_ for Sam. There’s the dried sweat smell of his brother, the faint smell of gun-oil and vinyl, the scrape of Dean’s stubble on his face and the sound of his brother’s sexy-deep growl his ears. Sam’s clothes prove easy for Dean to tease from him, and when they make love, it’s in the cozy difficulty of the old black car where everything always seems better. They slick the seats with their passion, and sand is everywhere it shouldn’t be, but it’s Sam and Dean _together_ , in every sense of the word, and it’s just perfect.

 

When they’re sated, and Sam lies tangled with Dean, his ear resting over the beat of Dean’s heart he stirs and asks, _why_? Why did Dean not want to go to the beach with John?

 

Sam feels Dean’s arms snake around him and hug him close. He’s safe in his brother’s hold. “It was such a perfect day,” murmurs Dean, “I’m glad I spent it with you.”

 

~end~


End file.
